


The morning after the night before

by Deputychairman



Series: High School Reunion, class of '85 [2]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Amanda will make you breakfast but the price is that she'll mock your pain, M/M, and you'll have to suck it up because you're dumbasses who drink to unlock the Forbidden Emotions, gratuitous nostalgia for when we could get shitfaced at bars and crash at our friends' houses, gratuitous reference to a Jean Claude Van Damme movie, karate rivals to dojo coworkers to drinking buddies to ???, the aftermath of getting messy drunk with your high school karate rival, the strange intimacy of having a hangover with somebody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/pseuds/Deputychairman
Summary: If he went drinking with LaRusso and to the beach with LaRusso, he’s got to admit it doesn’t seem likely he met anybody else at 2 in the morning who’d put him to bed in their house. But then it doesn’t seem very likely that Daniel LaRusso would put him to bed in his house either.He’s got this sinking feeling he said or did something he’s gonna regret as soon as he remembers what it is.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: High School Reunion, class of '85 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215566
Comments: 42
Kudos: 127





	The morning after the night before

**Author's Note:**

> A direct sequel to the high school reunion fic, as outlined in the end note! I just felt it was important that they got through this hangover together and possibly Realise some Things about Themselves (and then Ignore Them). 
> 
> Once again, consulting artistic director credit to my girl Cicaklah for some inspiring thoughts on the inhibition-lowering qualities of a bad hangover, and I'm sorry for yet another T rated fic that doesn't do those thoughts full justice!

Anthony LaRusso pushes open the door to the guest room to take a fancy white towel he’s not supposed to touch, and trips over a pair of boots.

The room is dim, and smells of alcohol. Someone has left clothes on the floor as well as their boots, and a strange man snoring in the bed.

Anthony tiptoes forward in the gloom, over the boots and close enough to the bed to make out a blond head he recognises: this is the guy his dad nearly had a fight with on the patio that time, his karate nemesis, and now he’s asleep in their guest room, still dead to the world at 10am. Anthony’s a pretty worldly 12 year old, he thinks. He recognises an adult with a hangover when he sees one.

He grabs the fluffy towel from the en suite, pads back out of the guest room without waking the enemy. When he steps back into the corridor, the soles of his bare feet are gritty with sand.

“Mom!” he yells from the top of the stairs.

His mother’s head appears from the kitchen. She’s still in her pyjamas, hair in a messy bun.

“Shhh!” she hisses. “Aren’t you almost a teenager? Can’t you text me rather than yelling like that?”

Ha, fine, he will then, next time. Anthony stomps downstairs as loudly as he can without it being obvious he’s doing it on purpose, and she looks at him with her hands on her hips, perfectly aware that he’s doing it on purpose.

“Dad was out really late last night, for god’s sake let him sleep, Anthony!”

“Why is that guy he hates asleep in the guest room?”

Her expression changes. “What guy he hates?” she asks sharply.

“You know, that guy he’s always going on about who’s teaching in the dojo with him now. Johnny Lawrence? How many guys does dad hate, anyway?”

“Oh, him,” she says, smiling in relief and then with that face she gets when she’s about to embarrass him. “That’s a good question, what _is_ Johnny Lawrence doing in our guest room?”

“Right now, he’s snoring, and he stinks like alcohol,” Anthony informs her.

“Oh, well, that’s what your father’s doing too, leave ‘em to it. You want breakfast?”

“Yeah, I want waffles –“

“Aw, that’s too bad because I’m making a smoothie and eggs,” she says, and kisses the top of his head before he can duck out of the way.

Now they both know Johnny Lawrence is here, Anthony kind of wishes she’d get dressed. But she just carries on slicing banana into the blender in her shorty pyjamas, smiling to herself.

* * *

Johnny wakes up with a dry mouth, splitting headache and no idea where he is.

He flails around in a moment of panic, trying to piece together last night. Where the fuck was I, what did I do –

Yeah, yeah, high school reunion, with Daniel LaRusso, people were weird so they split, and then? Then there was a bar, and then… after that he’s got nothing. Where the hell is he?

He’s alone in the bed, and he’s still wearing his dress shirt but not his pants. Groaning as he sits up, he finds them inside out on the floor next to the bed, exactly where any experienced drunk guy leaves his pants right before he passes out. In the pocket he finds his wallet, his phone which has no battery but it’s there, and sand.

He shakes out his pants and puts them back on anyway. _Never walk around a strange house with no pants on_ is a rule that’s gotten Johnny this far in life, he’s not gonna start switching it up today.

The first door he opens, squinting as sunlight fucking punches him in the eyes, turns out to be the en-suite bathroom. A classy bathroom, with those really expensive Spanish-style tiles that are a bitch to lay. He pisses and washes his hands and face, drinks water straight from the faucet, and still feels like he wants to die. He’d just quite like to know where he is before the sweet embrace of death takes him.

It’s quiet in the hallway, no voices to recognise. He didn’t put his boots on and now there’s sand on the soles of his feet too. 

Wasn’t he on the beach with LaRusso? Or was that some weird high school flashback brought on by the reunion, making him remember that first night he ever saw the guy as he put the moves on Ali? No, he was definitely on the beach with LaRusso last night, he’s sure of it. How else can you explain the sand?

Shit, is this LaRusso’s house?

If he went drinking with LaRusso and to the beach with LaRusso, he’s got to admit it doesn’t seem likely he met anybody else at 2 in the morning who’d put him to bed in their house. But then it doesn’t seem very likely that Daniel LaRusso would put him to bed in his house either.

He’s got this sinking feeling he said or did something he’s gonna regret as soon as he remembers what it is.

Daniel’s voice, sounding weak and kind of pathetic and honeslty a lot like how Johnny feels, comes from down the hall. “Amanda? Honey?”

So LaRusso _did_ put him to bed in his house.

Johnny follows the voice and pushes open a door into what proves to be Daniel’s room. It’s a really nice room. He’s still in bed, tousled dark head on the pillow and one bare arm stretched out on top of the covers. His eyes are shut.

“No, it’s me,” Johnny says. “I feel like shit.”

Daniel opens his eyes and doesn’t look as surprised to see Johnny in his bedroom as Johnny is to be there. Only he’s too hungover to feel anything as energetic as surprise. This might as well happen, is where he’s at this morning.

“Oh. Hey, you _are_ here,” says Daniel. “Thought I remembered bringing you back here, but then I wasn’t sure if I was just… You couldn’t remember your address? I think?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sounds about right. Thanks.”

“I feel like shit too. Why’d we drink so much?” then suddenly suspicious: “we didn’t do anything stupid, did we?”

Johnny dimly perceives that this is a dangerous question, but he doesn’t know why. He shakes his head.

Daniel groans like a pussy and pushes back the covers, all long legs and bare brown skin. Johnny stares stupidly at him. He’s only wearing boxer briefs, and when he stands up Johnny gets a glimpse of the weight of his cock and balls before he turns his back. The view barely penetrates the fog in his skull or he would have looked away. Obviously.

In last night’s clothes that he slept in, Johnny actually feels at more of a disadvantage than Daniel almost naked. And then Daniel pulls on a t shirt and sweats, right in front of him like they’re in a locker room, and Johnny’s at even more of a disadvantage. He looks like a tramp, and he _knows_ he stinks.

“You want breakfast? Amanda said she’d make eggs and bacon if I got up.”

He desperately wants breakfast, now it’s been offered, but Johnny gestures at his whole sorry self. “I can’t sit at the table with your wife like this.” He doesn’t care if he stinks in front of LaRusso, who’s probably sweating whiskey too, but for the guy’s wife he has _some_ standards, thanks. Plus he’s a little bit scared of Amanda LaRusso, in the good way you get with hot chicks who are in charge, and he’s in no shape to defend himself right now.

“Oh. You wanna take a shower? Uh, I can find you some clean clothes…”

And he’s pulling open drawers, one hand pressed to his head like he’s dying, the pussy, until he finds a pair of sweats and a t shirt shitty enough for Johnny.

He looks him up and down, tosses them over. “These oughta fit.”

“You not lending me underwear?” Maybe he’s not actually dying, if he’s still got the strength to mess with LaRusso.

LaRusso opens his mouth like he can’t let that go, then waves him off as too much effort.

“Nah, you’re on your own there, champ.”

When Johnny steps out of the guest room shower, the only towel he finds is too small to even go around his hips.

* * *

“He’s alive!” says Amanda when Daniel makes it down to the kitchen.

His hair is wet and he smells of shampoo instead of booze, but he still looks very sorry for himself.

“He is? You sure?” he asks, slumping down next to her at the table with a groan. He’s always _such_ a baby with a hangover.

She puts her arms around him, kisses his stubbled jaw. 

“You better be. Anthony says Johnny Lawrence is asleep upstairs and _I’m_ not going in there to wake him up. He’s _your_ childhood karate rival, new best friend cum business partner.”

“Nah, he’s up, he’s taking a shower. I forgot he was here, thought that was just a…drunken hallucination. And he’s not my new best friend,” he adds petulantly.

“But you guys had a good time last night?”

“I wish I could remember.”

“I’ll show you the Facebook page when he comes down,” she says. “You sit there and look pretty, I’ll make you both those eggs.”

“Thanks honey,” he says, putting his head down on his folded arms and watching her with big suffering eyes like some kind of urchin. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Why, what d’you do?” asks Johnny Lawrence, coming into the kitchen silently with bare feet.

In complete fairness, he looks as bad as Daniel this morning, like a 50 year old man who had too much to drink and not enough sleep. But he’s also wearing what she recognises with a little thrill as _Daniel’s clothes_.

Amanda’s not comparing the two of them, she’s not, but at the same time she does have eyes, and the sweatpants and t shirt that are relaxed and casual on Daniel’s lean frame are tantalisingly tight on Johnny’s athlete’s build. He looks flashier than usual in these clothes, like a guy who wants to be looked at rather than a guy who wants to be left alone. With the t shirt clinging to his pecs and biceps, and the pants clinging to his very nice ass, he could be a feature in Men’s Health, or at least he could with a forgiving filter and some sunglasses to hide the effects of last night.

Daniel slowly raises his head from his arms to look at Johnny.

Amanda also looks at Johnny. If Daniel gets to look, so does she, she figures.

There is a pause while husband and wife enjoy the view together, until finally Daniel drags his gaze away and meets Amanda’s eye in something approaching panic.

 _You brought him home and dressed him up like that, babe. Don’t look at me_ , she thinks. But he’s so hungover he can’t defend himself against Johnny Lawrence looking like _that_ , in his own kitchen, and she does love him very much.

“He stayed out till 4am and brought his hungover karate rival home with him,” she says in answer to Johnny’s question. “Hi, Johnny, good to see you. You want eggs and bacon?”

Johnny collapses into a chair next to Daniel. “Hey Amanda. Yeah. Yes please.”

“You don’t deserve her either,” says Daniel, the power of speech presumably restored now that Johnny’s sitting down and he only has to contend with his upper body and not the whole package. Although, in Daniel’s favourite t shirt that makes his eyes look really blue and his arms really impressive, his upper body is still quite distracting.

“This is good, you keep talking like that and I’ll forgive you in no time,” she says, taking eggs and peppers and bacon out of the fridge. “So, how is the class of ’85 doing? The Facebook page was _on fire_ last night.”

Johnny frowns.

Daniel looks suspicious, like a man who clicked a link when he was very drunk and now isn’t sure if he really remembers what he thinks he remembers.

* * *

Amanda’s wearing little shorty pyjamas, which look amazing even through his hangover. Maybe she usually wouldn’t wear them around a house guest, but firstly she didn’t know there was a house guest (and really, is Johnny Lawrence really someone you can call a house guest anyway?) and secondly it gives him the chance to really rub it in to Johnny how hot his wife is. It’s not like he _asked_ her to wear them, but since she is, he’s not above a bit of gloating.

So she’s wearing her shorty pyjamas, Johnny’s wearing Daniel’s loosest sweatpants and that t shirt he quite likes but was the first thing he found in the drawer, and Daniel has no thoughts whatsoever in his head about that. He doesn’t care how well Johnny fills them out, because he’s not a kid any more so he doesn’t compete with Johnny Lawrence any more. So why would he spare him a second glance.

“So, you re-lived the past, showed them all how good looking and successful you are, and everybody remembered you?” Amanda asks. “That about right?”

Johnny frowns through a mouthful of eggs, like he can’t decide if she’s mocking him. Daniel, who is eating more slowly as he battles waves of nausea, answers for both of them.

“Actually, yeah. It was good to see everyone – I showed a lot of pictures of you and the kids. People were really nice -”

“People were really weird,” interrupts Johnny.

Oh yeah. He remembers that now. How many times did some jackass have to echo, _You’re running a dojo together????_

“Well, yeah, that’s true, some people were weird. But they were nicer to me than they were in senior year, and they definitely did remember us.” They remembered us fighting, and they were so surprised to see us there together that it got weird, that’s all. He tells Amanda: “It was good. I still wish you’d come though.”

“Ew. No. I lived it vicariously on Facebook, that was enough for me.”

Daniel knows he’d had a few by the time they left the Sheraton, that strictly speaking he shouldn’t have been driving. But he absolutely remembers everything that happened at the reunion, so why is there a gleam in Amanda’s eye directed at him?

“Love the before-and-after photos of the two of you, by the way. You were quite the looker back then, Johnny!”

“In your _face,_ Daniel,” Johnny says triumphantly.

“Certainly looked like you were in his face, yeah. But Daniel was basically the most beautiful boy in the world, so I don’t blame you.”

“In _your_ face, Johnny,” he retorts, before his alcohol-ravaged brain can catch up to what she means. “Oh, you mean that old photo? Yeah, someone showed it to us. Amy… what was her name?”

“Brown, at high school. So, what, remembering one little cafeteria fight got everyone all excited?”

“Sounded like they remembered more than one fight.” Amanda knows all about Daniel’s senior year, she’s not gonna fall for the _one little fight_ bullshit. Again – not that Daniel cares any more. “Check the Facebook page, you’ll see.”

“My phone’s out of battery,” he stalls, but then knowing Johnny maybe his phone really is out of battery. Actually, so is Daniel’s.

“Oh, here,” says Amanda, sliding her phone across the table to where he and Johnny can both see it, already open on Facebook.

There are dozens of photos from last night’s reunion. Daniel only remembers posing for the one, but he spots himself in a couple of group photos, apparently deep in conversation. There’s one of Johnny with the Cobra Kais, another of him with Angela di Luca, there he is with some guy, with three women, with Jennifer Aldridge and Judy…

And there they both are.

Together, Johnny’s arm around his shoulders and his arm around Johnny’s waist. Why did they even pose like that? Johnny’d been the one to initiate, he’s sure of that. The shocking weight of his arm coming at him, indifferent at worst and maybe even friendly at best, like they’d fallen into a parallel universe where there was no history, nothing weighing them down. So he’d responded in kind, instinctive as always, their old rhythm of Johnny striking first and Daniel striking back.

Johnny’s only fractionally taller these days. In the picture, you can’t really tell he has 30 pounds on Daniel either.

Not like the snapshot below. There, Johnny’s looming over him, all muscles and menacing broad shoulders, a teenager’s testosterone in a man’s body, Daniel with his back against the wall still baby-faced and skinny as a kid. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt as if he was _trying_ to look weak and defenceless, which he knows for sure he was not. Somebody could have clued him in, maybe.

Not for the first time, he has to conclude that his tournament win was a fluke. He can hold his own against Johnny now, just about, but looking at the photo he knows he never stood a chance back then. Johnny could beat him up whenever he wanted, _had_ beaten him up whenever he wanted, could turn up and intimidate him on a whim like he enjoyed it or something, and there was nothing at all Daniel could do to stop him. Only Mr Miyagi could do that.

Whatever. It was 35 years ago, he doesn’t care any more. He’s not competing with this guy, he’s working with him. He’s safe in his own house, Amanda resting one hand on his shoulder as she looks at the phone from behind his chair. She’s literally got his back.

They’ve already seen these pictures anyway, Amy showed them as soon as she took it.

There are a lot of comments they hadn’t seen, but all the recent ones are just someone’s conversation and it’s nothing to do with them. Daniel doesn’t click to see more. He’s too hungover to take an interest, honestly. Plus his hands are kind of shaky.

“What is all this hippie bullshit: hashtag _love wins_ ,” Johnny glances up at Amanda, but he’s not really asking, Daniel thinks. He’s more checking that he can say that without pissing her off.

Daniel could already tell him she’s not pissed off. Once the hangover fog lifts, he might even catch up to why she finds all the peace and love vibe quite so funny. Didn’t she want them to stop fighting and get along? Well, they’re more or less getting along, and their old classmates had fallen into the old trap of commenting when they were drinking, everyone knows that’s a bad idea! They’re probably feeling embarrassed about it this morning.

Amanda smiles. “I guess people were just really rooting for you guys to bury the hatchet.”

Daniel twists his head round to look at her. “Why do people keep using that expression?” he complains.

“They do?”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees. “Bobby said the same thing. Your husband said he was gonna bury it in my back.”

Amanda holds up her hands like she’s fake-apologising on Daniel’s behalf: “Wow, Johnny, what’d you do to him to make him say that?”

“Why’s everyone so sure I did something to him? Maybe _I’m_ the injured party here, you ever think of that? Being threatened with hatchets when I’m just innocently attending a high school reunion?”

“I said, that’s the corny joke. I never said I was _personally_ gonna bury any hatchets in your back – if you felt threatened by that, that’s on you, man.”

Johnny snorts and clicks to see more comments. Daniel’s not reading any more, he’s watching Johnny’s face. Sometimes his lips move as he tries to make sense of internet shorthand: “R, O, T, F, L…?”

“Roll on the floor laughing,” Amanda supplies.

“Yeah, we’ll see who ends up on the floor first, pal. Who is this guy anyway - Chad Murphy? Loser name, don’t know him.”

He shouldn’t be looking, but: “Wait, stop, lemme see that one –“ Daniel bats his hand away to see, reads out: “ _Can’t believe Johnny Lawrence is still a natural blonde_!”

Then he looks below. The next person has replied, “ _Well now we know who could tell us if it’s natural or not!_ (Laugh emoji 5 times)”. Johnny glances at him and he makes the mistake of looking back. Why is that a mistake? He doesn’t know.

Neither of them reads it aloud. For a bunch of 50 year olds, the _ha ha they’re gay_ jokes are pretty pathetic, like 1985 never died for some of these people.

Johnny could _click to view previous replies_ , but he doesn’t. He picks up his fork and takes another mouthful of eggs. Daniel doesn’t click it either. He had enough of these guys being weird last night.

“Honey, have we got any Advil?” he asks Amanda.

He lets his voice sound as feeble as he feels right now. He is Never. Drinking. Again, and he’s definitely never drinking with Johnny Lawrence again.

* * *

Once she’s fed them, Amanda goes out to play tennis at the country club.

“Think you’ll survive the hangover without me, baby?” she asks LaRusso, leaning over him now dressed in her little tennis skirt, all get-up-and-go energy in sharp contrast to his death-warmed-up slump at the table. He couldn’t even finish his eggs. “I’m taking my phone, if you think you’re actually going to die, call me and I’ll come back to say goodbye.”

LaRusso grimaces while Johnny laughs at him. How did this guy end up with such a cool wife anyway? It doesn’t make any sense to Johnny, what women see in him: he’s not even that good-looking. Johnny’s seen him almost naked now and he’s nothing special, but last night there were babes all over him like history repeating itself. Johnny should’ve kicked his ass, let him really re-live high school.

“You could always ask Johnny to finish you off, a mercy killing.”

Johnny winks at her. “I’m there for you, man,” he offers.

“It’s not fair if you gang up on me when I can’t defend myself,” Daniel complains, but he still tips his head back to let his wife kiss him. Oh yeah, she’s _definitely_ the one on top. Johnny can always tell.

They watch her head out of the kitchen, hear the front door close behind her and her car engine start. Neither of them moves. The _idea_ of physical exercise is enough to make Johnny feel sick.

“I can’t drive yet, I think I’m still drunk,” Daniel groans, still being a pussy. “I’m just gonna - ”

He trails off without finishing his sentence, gets up and shuffles into the other room to flop down onto the couch, like those 10 steps took it all out of him. Serves him right for having such a big house. In Johnny’s apartment, you can get from the table to the couch in _two_ steps, one if you’re prepared to launch yourself at it, so he wins. 

Johnny doesn’t know what else to do so he follows him – LaRusso doesn’t seem in a hurry to kick him out, and getting his sorry ass home without a car or anyone offering to drive him sounds impossible right now. He’d black out on the city bus, puke in a taxi, whatever, it wouldn’t be pretty. Daniel’s gonna need to be a lot more direct if he wants to get rid of him.

But Daniel seems happy enough to let him stay. He gives a little jerk of his head to indicate the other side of the couch, a blink and you miss it invitation. Why does everyone think this guy’s such a charmer? He’s the Jersey punk he always was, doesn’t know how to say _you wanna slump in front of the TV, take your mind off how much you’re suffering?_ After Johnny generously offered to put him out of his misery, too.

He doesn’t even ask what Johnny wants to watch, flicks through channels so fast Johnny gives up and just lets him pick. It’s his house, Johnny’s gonna fall asleep in a minute anyway. He doesn’t have to be alpha dog every single minute, ok.

“Jean Claude Van Damme!” Daniel says suddenly, and stops flicking. He sinks back into the couch in satisfaction.

Johnny grunts, “What?”

“Replicant. The one where they clone him, he’s the good guy _and_ the bad guy. It’s really bad.”

Oh yeah. Johnny recognises it now. He can stay awake for like, 10 minutes, for a bad Jean Claude Van Damme movie.

One of the Jean Claude Van Dammes – the clone, the good one – flips upside down to walk on his hands, then lowers himself back down, impossibly slowly, into the splits. His legs are practically at 180 degrees before his feet are anywhere near the ground, it’s insane.

Johnny says, “Bet you can’t get your leg _that_ high.”

“He’s got them wide, not high.”

“Same difference, man.”

Daniel turns his head on the couch cushion to smirk at him. “You asking me how _wide_ my legs go now?”

Yeah, the hashtag _love wins_ crowd would love that.

“Oh, fuck you,” Johnny says weakly. It’s not the most threatening he’s ever sounded. His head really hurts, though. The food did help but his hands are still kinda shaky as his body works through beer, whiskey, and whatever that weird shot was LaRusso made him drink. Ok, maybe he had two or three of those.

Clone Jean Claude Van Damme cowers against the wall of his futuristic cell. Then he’s in a car, and some kind of chase on foot, dressed in the worst of the 90s. Maybe Johnny dozed off just for a second.

Daniel says idly, through a yawn, “When I was 18, maybe I coulda trained like a maniac and learned that move. But that’s gymnastics, man, it only looks cool when he does it in the movie, it’s not gonna land the same coming from me.”

Johnny looks sideways at him. Daniel’s watching the TV, bare feet up on the coffee table, a boneless sprawl on the couch. His brain got kinda stuck on wondering how wide Daniel’s legs would go, then it went off on a tangent on the curve of his spine as he stretches before class, how that impossible gymnast move is no more improbable than a crane kick. 

Weird, the things that come into your head when you’re really hungover.

“Ok, that’s just stupid,” Johnny grunts a while later, as Jean Claude Van Damme does an elaborate parallel bars routine on some pipes in a warehouse while bad guys just watch. “Why did they teach the replicant pointless shit like that when they coulda taught him something useful? When’s he gonna need to do the parallel bars?”

Daniel doesn’t answer, because Daniel has fallen asleep.

The weight on his shoulder that he was firmly ignoring, in case – in case what? He was ignoring that too – that weight was Daniel’s head. Obviously now that he’s noticed, Johnny’s gonna have to grab him, get him in a headlock or something, mess up his stupid neat hair. Teach him not to let his guard down around Johnny again.

He doesn’t though. For a minute he watches the movie without taking anything in, then he pushes LaRusso off his shoulder, gently.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” lies LaRusso, blinking awake. He sits up straighter, leaving a cool spot on Johnny’s shoulder.

“I don’t care, sleep if you want to. Just, don’t do it on me.” Is he protesting too much? Maybe he is. Who gives a shit if the guy falls asleep on him?

Not even really awake, Daniel just answers instinctively, all in a day’s work of the two of them trash talking each other: “’S my couch. You’re in the way.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought me here, man. I got no car, I can’t even call a cab ‘cause my phone died -“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, like I’m keeping you here against your will, eating my food and eyeing up my wife.”

Wow, is this always how he gets with a hangover, still picking a fight even when he sounds like a stiff breeze could take him out?

“Hey, cool it, I am not eyeing up your wife!” Then, suddenly worried, “She didn’t think I was, did she? Did she say something?”

Daniel grunts a negative.

“Thank you. Like I’d dare, she’d have my balls if I was creeping on her, I know that. Your wife’s cool, LaRusso.”

“Yeah she is.” Finally, something Daniel won’t argue with him about. “Well, you still ate my food.”

“Yeah, and you stole my girlfriend in 1984, you wanna take this outside or what?”

Daniel grins, his eyes almost closed again, and just waves him off. It’s weird, that this is who that kid in the photo grew into - he can see him right there, just under the surface. It’s weird that Johnny went to their high school reunion then on a drunken bender with him. But he’s not going to think about that now, because his head hurts and anyway there’s nothing to think about. 

“Thank you,” Johnny says. “So shut up and watch Jean Claude Van Damme.”

*

Johnny wakes up at the end of the movie to find he’s tilted over in his sleep and has come to rest against LaRusso.

So, fine. Now they’re even. Any other day, he’d feel like a chick, falling asleep with his head on someone’s shoulder, but today he has a hangover only a real man could survive and that means anything he does today is extra badass. Going to sleep leaning on your worst enemy is about as badass as it gets, right? No fear. Not that he’s ever been afraid of skinny, Bambi-eyes Daniel LaRusso. And he wasn’t obsessed with him either, whatever those assholes from their class think.

*

Next time he wakes up, it’s to a young, female voice he knows he recognises calling out, “Hey, I’m home! Where are you guys?”

And a second later, from much closer, “Hey dad! Oh! Uh – hey sensei Lawrence, I didn’t know you were here! Did you guys have fun at the reunion?”

He opens his eyes, bleary and disorientated. Where is he, who’s that girl and why is she calling him dad – and sees Samantha LaRusso, hand in hand with Miguel, both standing looking at him.

Oh yeah. He’s at LaRusso’s house. He fell asleep on LaRusso’s couch, watching TV.

“Oh hi, sweetheart. Hi, Miguel,” says Daniel LaRusso blurrily, from just above him and way too close. “I, uh, I think your sensei’s asleep.”

“NoI’mnot,” Johnny blurts out, and pushes himself up from where he’d been – shit, shit shit -

– no, fuck it, who cares, the kids wanted them to team up, it made sense so they’ve teamed up, drinking with the guy and getting through the hangover together is just joint dojo team building –

\- so who gives a shit if they see he fell asleep actually _on_ Daniel LaRusso? Like, obviously at some point his shoulder wasn’t good enough, now he’s head-on-a-cushion-in-the-guy’s-lap _on_ Daniel LaRusso? Johnny doesn’t give a shit, that’s for sure. He’s gone to sleep drunk or passed out on his buddies more times than he can count, a hangover like this that could kill an elephant is no different. He’s probably still drunk. That would explain a lot.

“Hey, sensei!” says Miguel, pleased to see him like always. God he loves this kid. Who else in the world is reliably pleased to see Johnny Lawrence?

* * *

“They look like they’re friends now, right?” Sam whispers to Miguel as they head up the stairs to her room, doomed to spend Sunday afternoon on a chemistry project.

“Yeah, definitely,” he agrees. “I didn’t think that would happen so fast, after everything sensei’s told about all the… history between them.”

“But it’s good, right? If they actually make friends? Then my dad will stop going on about him and all that stuff from the past, and - ” she pushes open her bedroom door, drops her bag on the floor and laughs. “And he can’t say anything about leaving the dojo door open – did you see how sensei Lawrence sat up really fast like, guiltily, like we’d walked in on something!”

“Yeah, ha ha, like it’s more badass to be these lifelong mortal enemies, if they make friends it’s like, boring and normal and – oh, oh, do you think sensei thinks it’s _weak,_ ” he’s grinning as he puts air-quotes around _weak,_ “To go to sleep on your friend?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“Yeah, and maybe next time we’ll catch them – having a beer, or talking about cars, something really scandalous like that.”

Very fleetingly, Sam thinks, no, that’s not quite what they looked embarrassed about.

Then Miguel steps close, puts his hands on her hips, smiles down at her, and she forgets all about it.

She’s so happy they can do this now, that Miguel in her house just gets a _Hey Miguel_ from her dad, and a funny guilty start from Sensei Lawrence. They’re going to study chemistry now, they are, they’re both good students, but first she’s just going to kiss him for a minute, because she’ll hear her parents coming, and anyway they really don’t seem interested in what she’s doing right now.

* * *

At 5pm Daniel drags himself off the couch and out of their weird game of physical contact chicken. The back of his neck is tingling, but he thinks he won it – Johnny wouldn’t give him a hamstring massage when he stretched out full length and draped his legs over Johnny’s lap. He only asked because he’s still living in the twilight zone of his hangover where nothing is real: the day Johnny Lawrence actually gives him a massage, he’ll post it on the West Valley High Class of ’85 Facebook page himself.

Amanda had looked in on them when she got home, eyebrows raised and an intriguing half smile.

“This is a change from the macho posturing,” she said, and Daniel felt a stir of memory from last night. _Did I call him ‘too macho’?_ Johnny is, obviously, proudly, the most macho person he knows, always has been. The gold standard by which macho is measured. He doesn’t even understand the concept of ‘too macho’.

Daniel stands there, hands on hips, looking down at Johnny sacked out on his couch. Assesses the state of his hangover: his hands have mostly stopped shaking, which is progress. His head’s pounding and he still feels nauseous, but not like he’ll actually puke any more. He can probably survive the outside world.

“I think I can drive now,” Daniel says.

Johnny gets the hint. He groans, shows a flash of abs when he stretches, and hauls himself up off the couch.

“You wanna go get the Avanti, I’ll drive it back to the dealership for you? You can get me a cab from your phone from there.”

Yeah, ok, he can treat Johnny to an Uber if it means not explaining to Amanda that he left a thirty thousand dollar car outside a bar somewhere while he got drunk with his high school karate rival.

Johnny comes back downstairs wearing his jeans and boots from last night, but he hasn’t changed out of Daniel’s t shirt. 

He waves yesterday’s shirt, more balled up than folded. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be in a car with me if I put this back on.”

Daniel could say, _I don’t wanna be in a car with you anyway_ , but it’s too easy. And it wouldn’t be true.

*

Miraculously, Johnny remembers the name of the bar. There was probably some place in his Uber account to find where they’d gotten picked up last night, retrace their steps, find the car that way, but he’d have had to ask Sam how to do it. He’d maybe slightly overreacted the one time she got drunk, so asking his 17 year old daughter to sort out the mess from when _he_ got drunk was something he’d just as soon avoid.

He switches Google maps so it says the directions out loud, but Johnny – to his amazement – manages to switch it back off and takes over the navigation. The guy’s full of surprises today. Or maybe just has more recent practice with a debilitating hangover than Daniel does.

“You couldn’t find where we were trying to go last night, and now you know better than Google?” Daniel asks as he merges onto the highway.

“I can read a map, Danielle, I don’t need it telling me what to do.”

Something about being in the car brings out the _Danielle_. Daniel’s noticed there’s a pattern. Understanding why Johnny has this pattern is right there on the tip of his tongue but he can’t quite find it, like if he just stops thinking about it, it will come to him.

They go round the block the bar is on three times before they actually find the bar itself, find a spot to park up, then find the bar again so they can walk back to approximately where Daniel thinks they parked the Avanti last night. The street is deserted at this time on a Sunday, shadows stark in the strong afternoon light, almost no traffic and most of the bars closed.

Johnny’s silent behind sunglasses that make him look like an off-duty movie star. He lifts them for a second to squint into the dark interior. Smirks to himself, and drops them again.

Seeing that smirk, it starts coming back to him.

“You were gonna call Ali to ask who was better in bed when we were 17,” he says accusingly. But not very accusingly. Like most of today, he’s experiencing it through a blanket of dehydration, not enough sleep and way too much to drink last night, he can’t get any momentum of outrage going. If Johnny feels anything like Daniel does, kicking up a fuss about anything he said last night would just be kicking a man when he’s down.

“You’re safe, my phone’s dead.”

“Convenient for you.”

Johnny gives him a long sideways look from behind his sunglasses, frowning like maybe some of this is coming back to him too, now that they’re here at the scene of the crime.

It’s coming back to Daniel alright, about how – shit, _shit,_ did he tell Johnny Lawrence about how he lost his virginity? He cringes so hard at the thought of it he knows it shows on his face. Surely there’s not enough alcohol in the world to get him to do that – no, no, he’s sure, there was no story, Johnny’d told him Ali was his first, and all he’d said was _mine too_. Which was bad enough.

Not like it would be much of a stretch for Johnny to guess that, but hearing a guy tell you is different from guessing. Daniel knew already about Johnny and Ali from way back when, and it was still different having Johnny tell him last night. Like they were friends, people who trusted each other enough to talk about shit like that. Which they are not.

There’s no getting away from every mortifying detail he remembers now, it’s like a flood coming back to him of all the dumb shit that comes outta his mouth when he’s been drinking. His ma always said, when he was a kid, that he wouldn’t have got in half the trouble he did if he’d only learned when to keep his mouth shut. And did he ever learn?

 _I never expected that 35 years later I’d be_ _celebrating losing my virginity with you_. That’s what he said, when they drank to what a great girl Ali was. Johnny chose to misinterpret it because that’s the kind of asshole he is, but it wasn’t mean, he just laughed even more when Daniel turned it around, said, _you were the one following me round everywhere I went, looking for excuses to get your hands on me_...

So, no harm, no foul – maybe it’s embarrassing in the cold light of day, but he and Johnny can talk shit if they want, no one else even heard. Daniel knows that’s not why he’s got a sinking feeling thinking about last night.

Sweating in the strong sun, Daniel has a flash of memory of almost colliding with a trash can, the two of them leaning on each other, Johnny’s arm heavy over his shoulders again, the hard muscle of Johnny’s side under Daniel’s palm.

He glances over at Johnny just in time to see him look away.

“We went this way to the beach _after,_ we didn’t park here. It’s gotta be – back that way,” he says, like something about this stretch of street and the ocean at the end of it has spooked him.

And then Daniel’s got it.

* * *

Johnny doesn’t want to be here. It’s too bright and too hot and it’s not even his car, he’s spent all day with Daniel fucking LaRusso when he didn’t even have to, he’s had _enough_ now. He doesn’t want to remember what dumb shit he said or did last night, and if they go back the other way maybe he won’t. His head’s pretty fucked, too many fights over the years, it’s easy for Johnny to forget stuff –

* * *

_Bet you never even slept with a guy,_ that’s what he said last night, with his arm around Johnny. Giving him all the clues he needs to connect the dots, like a fucking idiot. All the ammunition he’ll ever need. He remembers now. _Too macho but not man enough._

And Johnny’d said

Johnny’d said

 _Yes I have_.

* * *

Johnny doesn’t want to go any closer to the beach.

He wants to forget about last night, about high school, about falling over in the sand with Daniel fucking LaRusso, who he’s hated for 35 years and still hates today. Who wasn’t _that_ pretty in ’84 and definitely isn’t pretty now, he’s not _that_ charming or maybe Johnny’s the only person in the Valley who’s immune, the fucking crane kick was a fluke, and the joint dojo bullshit is never gonna work –

* * *

Falling over still hanging on to each other, landing in a tangle of his legs and Johnny’s legs, the world spinning. That way you can fall over when you’re drunk and it won’t even hurt till much, much later. They were lying on the beach, and Johnny was looming over him and Daniel remembers laughing and trying to push him off, but not seriously trying to push him off, just – going through the motions, a symbolic protest, because that’s what you do, a guy’s lying on top of you and you try to push him off because what’s he gonna think if you don’t, and

And he remembers

He remembers Johnny –

* * *

Because last night on the beach, nothing happened. Nothing that it’ll do any good to remember, LaRusso doesn’t remember or he’d never have put Johnny in that Uber with him, never brought him home where he lives with his wife who he loves, he’d have left him on the beach, so the best thing is for Johnny to forget again. He’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and phone numbers and soccer games and court hearings and PTA meetings. He’s forgotten how his mom was, near the end, he’s forgotten Sid and anything Kreese ever did to him, anything he ever did to anyone else, none of that matters. He can forget anything, watch him do it.

* * *

– kissing him.

Johnny Lawrence, who nearly killed him when he was 17. Johnny who he beat in ’84, crane kick to the face, Johnny who won’t look at him now.

That Johnny Lawrence.

The drunk weight of him, the heat of his mouth – did I let him? Did I relax, open up, give it all up? Did I say, hey man, cut that out? I didn’t jump up and kick his ass, that’s for sure – we could barely stand up, so what did I do –

* * *

He can forget 10 seconds of his tongue down Daniel LaRusso’s throat, that never happened. He can forget practically holding the guy down, Daniel laughing so hard all he can do is lie there and push ineffectually at his shoulders, he’s already forgotten if he said, get off me man _,_ if he made a sound of protest when Johnny shut him up, if he got angry or laughed at him some more, if he told everybody on Facebook, if he kissed back, if he didn’t but wishes he had, if he passed out and that’s the only reason Johnny doesn’t have a broken nose today.

It’s gone, it never happened.

* * *

Daniel sees the car.

He doesn’t know what he did when Johnny kissed him but he can see the car with its LaRusso Auto plates, parked across the street, right where they left it last night.

“Hey. Johnny. There it is!”

Johnny looks where he’s pointing, then back at him with something that might be gratitude.

“Told you,” he manages.

“You told me the opposite, dumbass.”

He’s already backing away from Daniel, towards the Avanti, hand held out for the keys and face unreadable behind his sunglasses. Daniel throws them and Johnny snatches them out of the air, a drowning man catching a lifeline.

They’re done here, nothing more to see on this street.

They don’t even say goodbye. He watches Johnny drive away, too fast, before he walks back up the street to his own car, and it’s only then he realises he never told him which lot to take the car back to. And he can’t call him because his phone is dead.

So Daniel goes home to Amanda, and he doesn’t let himself think about Johnny Lawrence any more. He doesn’t really remember what happened, maybe Johnny doesn’t either, so he won’t think about any of it any more. That guy’s been tormenting him since high school and Daniel isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting it get to him.

On the other hand, Amanda thinks it’s really hot.

* * *

Johnny knows exactly what he did.

He drives home in Daniel’s car, and doesn’t even remember he was meant to take it back to LaRusso Auto till nearly midnight. By that time he’s had three beers, and gone to bed to jerk off to the drunken memory of Daniel LaRusso on the beach, that hot tight body, wet mouth opening under his so briefly it’s like it never happened.

When he finally plugs his phone in, the Facebook app has a little red circle that says ‘99+’ and Daniel hasn’t even texted him about the damn car.

He feels like shit.

He figures LaRusso owes him a car for how bad he’s made him feel, but that’s never been how any of this worked.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I watched Replicant so you don't have to 
> 
> 2) I didn't tag the relationship Daniel/Amanda bc it's not the focus and if I was looking for that I'd be disappointed with this, but at the same time i hope it's clear that they love each other and will not be getting divorced bc why would she settle for one hot deranged 80s All Valley karate champion when she could have two??? Next installment: Amanda enjoys the spectator sport of karate as an intricate ritual
> 
> 3) come and hang out on [tumblr](http://deputychairman.tumblr.com/) for more thoughts about lifelong karate rivalries and how personal they can be


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